Miracles
by Shadowdragon8902
Summary: When her husband dies, things change. She becomes a woman that she never could have been before. But as times get darker, will there be any way to save her?


And they say that life is a miracle.

Hah!

I don't know who they've talked to, but I don't really want to know.

I can't help musing over the last few months while I lie here and wait for the end of my life. I know it's near, just minutes away, and yet, I can't dredge up a sense of fear, or anger, or sorrow.

All that I feel is relief, and an inexpressible longing…

* * *

It seems so long, so far away, and yet, I know that it was only months ago that I believed life was worth living...

That's not the truth any more.

I don't know what the truth, is, now.

But I do know one thing...

I'm going to die, and then things...

Things will be right again.

* * *

I was only supposed to kill his enemy. I wasn't supposed to do what I did-kill my other half, my lover, friend, and companion, as well. I didn't want to. But I had no choice.

No choice but to-

No! I won't say it. I won't! No one else-

No one else needs to know.

No one else needs to bear that guilt.

The burden is mine, and mine alone.

If only it would go away and leave me in peace. But the only way that it will is for me to die-

But death is denied me.

Still, it won't be long now.

Not long at all.

* * *

It was at his funeral that I think the last of my heart died. The rest of it had already died with him.

You would think that all of my grieving, my soul-searching, my madness- you would think that much of it had already happened, that it had at least started.

It hadn't.

They brought him in, cool and lifeless on the stretcher, and it was as though the entire world instantly shattered into minute, unrecognizable fragments that rained down upon me. My perfect, flawless reality gone, replaced with a twisted mockery of reality.

They set the stretcher down before me, and it was over. I couldn't keep back the tears, and there was nothing anyone could do.

I knelt, my head resting on his cold, lifeless chest, and cried, remembering the times we'd had. Remembering his last words to me-"As you love me, do it now!"-and how he looked as he fell.

I remembered our special things, and I cried for the man that I'd lost.

I did what I had to do- I took the ring from his finger, the one he'd worn for barely a month, and put the rose, a perfect crimson blossom, between his folded hands. I had time to run my fingers through his silky hair once more, and then they helped me up.

They let me kiss him one last time, and then I was led back to my seat.

And then they took him away.

That, I think, is when my soul died.

* * *

They gave me the letter he'd kept hidden for me, to be given to me if he was killed.

With trembling hands, I opened it, and cried again, just at the sight of his elegant handwriting. Tears spotted the paper before I had even had a chance to read it.

* * *

Darling,

If you're reading this, then by now you know that I have been killed.

I know that we've been married just for a few short months, but I have known that I loved you since-well, since the third year that I knew you. There was just something about you that-

This isn't what I wanted to write.

I love you, honey. I love you more than you will ever know, and I know that right now, you must be drowning in sorrow. Remember, this had to be done, though I wish I had come out of this alive.

Hang in there, baby, as best you can.

And know that I will always, ALWAYS, be with you.

Love, love, love, love, LOVE, and a thousand times more love from your adoring husband

* * *

That was all it said.

And that was all it needed to say.

* * *

It was one of my old friends, a man that I'd met as a boy at school, who found me after I'd taken the lethal mixture of liquids.

He'd thought that it might happen, I guess. He'd seen how much in love we had been, and thought that I might do such a thing.

Before, I'd never have thought of something like that.

* * *

None of them knew what it was like, the searing, broken pain that I had come to know with every heartbeat, every breath. They didn't know how much I wanted to die.

To be free of the pain.

Soon, they had set a watch over me, to make sure that I wouldn't try to suicide again. But it was a useless attempt, because if I had willed it, I could have done it before they could stop me.

But I didn't.

No, something had changed.

And if I told them, it meant that I had to keep on living…

And I wasn't sure, yet, that that's what I wanted.

* * *

Unable to live, I was also unable to die.

So I just was.

But when this happened, I knew that things had to change.

I began cleaning the small house, my misery buried inside me where no one could see it. I straightened bookshelves, put clothes away, and cleaned the windows; I painted many of the rooms and began ordering the things that I would need.

My friends, not trusting me, sat in whichever room I was cleaning. I didn't care, as long as they didn't try to help me.

I didn't talk, except to ask for whatever cleaning supplies I needed. The rest of the time, I put on music, or put in earplugs, so that all I could hear was his voice, or the blessed sound of the roaring silence.

It wasn't long before I had to tell everyone that I was pregnant. I mean, they all knew something was different, but I wasn't big yet, so they really couldn't tell.

But I daresay only a few of them knew.

* * *

When I told them, they almost threw a party. I don't think that any of them have ever been so excited, at least, not that I can remember.

Perhaps they hoped that I had finally gotten over the deepest swell of my grief, with the news that a child of ours was growing within me. Perhaps they believed that I was excited.

They thought that things were better.

I, however, knew differently.

Things were only getting worse.

* * *

It must have been just yesterday that I noticed the bleeding. I knew that there was at least two children in my womb, as swollen as it was, some time before, though.

I was sitting on a chair, my arms wrapped around my bulky, awkward body, when I discovered, by way of a misplaced hand, that the cushion beneath me was wet.

Panting, I struggled to my feet, and looked at the spot with numb horror as I realized that my seat was stained with blood.

My blood.

It took my friend only moments to discover the problem, to find out what had caused my horrified scream. Then she grabbed my hand, and told me to calm down.

Her voice was so steady, so soothing, that I did what she asked without thinking about it. Soon I was lying on the bed in my room, and she had gone to get the doctor.

I passed out long before she returned, the light pouring in through my window, spinning away from me in favor for a deep, warm, inky darkness.

* * *

I woke to darkness, and the sound of my name being called softly.

Confused, I held out my arms, and a hand was inserted into one of them. It squeezed mine tightly, for a moment, and then let go.

I opened my eyes, and the lights stung them, so I closed them again.

The doctor's voice, rich and warm and hesitant, informed me that my three children were fine, though they were premature. They would, it was predicted, grow up string and healthy.

Then there was a pause, thick and heavy in the air.

It was my friend who spoke up, and told me that I was dying.

I was, apparently, bleeding to death. Nothing could be done, though the doctor had tried for a long while before admitting defeat.

They turned down the lights, then brought me the children. I looked at them, awed. Their faces were so familiar…

The first, a hardy little boy, looked just like his father.

The quiet little girl, the second child, looked like I might have when I was her age.

And the third, an angelic little boy, looked like us both.

* * *

So now you know my tale. I can't hide the truth from everyone- someone has to know. And I trust you.

I already feel myself dying- inch by inch, second by second. Soon there will be nothing left of me but the broken shell of a woman who, by all rights, should not have died so soon, not even a year after her husband.

And even that will soon be gone.

Now, as I feel my heart slowing, I know that my children need me, but there is nothing to be done. If I could, I'd go on living, at least for a few years longer, to share with them stories of a father that they'll never know.

And a mother, as well, it appears.

I've asked my friends to look after the children, and I have no doubt that they will do so.

However, I have a favor to ask of you.

When you get a moment, please stop in and see them. Tell them about their parents; let them learn to know us through you. Check up on them once in a while…

And please… don't ever forget me…


End file.
